


Hurt Me

by xoxodelvidestruction



Category: Motorcycling RPF, Motorsport RPF, motogp - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 19:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxodelvidestruction/pseuds/xoxodelvidestruction
Summary: Can Jorge cope with Repsol being Team Marc?





	Hurt Me

Jorge stormed out of Alberto’s office. He was barely even looking where he was going as he charged down the hallway, nearly knocking Marc off his feet as he rounded the corner. 

“Jorge, what’s…” 

“Not now,” he snapped, yanking his hand away when Marc reached for him. Jorge’s heart seized at the way Marc almost whimpered his name, but he forced his feet to keep moving. He was too angry to even look at Marc right now. 

They both knew their tempers were too high to have a rational conversation when one of them was truly pissed off. Marc could tell that right now, he had to let Jorge keep going. A fight would either turn into a shouting match or the roughest, and best, fuck Marc had had in weeks. Both of these options were bad in such a public situation. 

Marc waited nearly an hour before he followed Jorge to his motorhome. He knocked on the door a few times before trying the handle when there was still no answer. All of the lights were off and the blinds were drawn. 

“Jorge?” he called softly, repeating his name a little louder as he stepped into the dark motorhome. 

“No, Marc. I don’t want to see you.” Marc flinched, startled by Jorge’s flat tone coming from directly to his left. He squinted harder but still couldn’t quite make out his shape. 

“We need to talk about whatever is bothering you,” Marc replied, closing the door behind him. He flicked on the lights, this time jumping at the growl from his boyfriend. 

“I said I don’t want to see you,” Jorge repeated, his voice harder. He stood up and tried to push Marc back towards the door. 

“What’s wrong?” Marc asked again, sidestepping the Mallorcan. He started to walk to the couch but stopped when he noticed how red Jorge’s eyes were. “Amor, what is it?” Jorge swatted at Marc’s hands as they reached up to cup his face. 

“Stop pretending like you don’t already know.” Marc was undeterred by Jorge’s obvious frustration, still trying to get closer to his boyfriend. 

“I thought we agreed the only way to make this work in the paddock was to talk about everything. Partners, remember?” Jorge scoffed, looking equal parts disgusted and heartbroken. 

“Partners?!” he echoed, his voice rising as he started to lose the tight control on his temper. “To be partners we have to be equals, and you made it very clear that you do NOT think we are equal.” 

“What are you talking about?” Marc started to feel a sense of dread creeping in. He was beginning to have an idea what Alberto might have said to upset Jorge so much. 

“You have the only chance at the championship.” Marc’s stomach knotted as Jorge repeated his own words back to him. 

_ “Marc, we don’t have extra resources to completely rebuild a bike for Jorge right now. If we divert everyone there, it could impact the availability of repairs if you crash,” Alberto explained, patting Marc on the shoulder. He knew his rider was worried about his teammate, but he also knew Marquez wouldn’t risk his championship.  _

_ “He’s just struggling so much,” Marc argued weakly.  _

_ “I know, and next year we will make sure to spend time creating a bike Lorenzo is comfortable with.” Marc nodded, feeling more confident in Puig’s reassurances.  _

_ “I guess I am the one winning a championship this year,” he shrugged, feeling a twinge of guilt even as he admitted it outloud. “Next year we can try to get Jorge closer to the podium.” Puig nodded happily, gently leading Marc to the door.  _

“I didn’t mean you aren’t capable of another one,” Marc replied, already wishing he could take his words back. 

“That’s not the point! Did you even try to argue against everything being centered around you?” Jorge accused, raising his hands in the air. Marc could feel his cheeks heating up. 

“Of course I tried! It would be easier to push back if you were competitive!” Marc shot back, not stepping down when Jorge crowded into his personal space. 

“I broke my back on that bike, Marc! And before that, I broke my wrist on it. Am I just supposed to keep pushing and ignore the fact that Honda hasn’t changed a single thing I’ve asked for? Do you like seeing me at the back of the grid?” Jorge paused, a terrible thought suddenly occurring. “Are you… are you happy I’m not challenging you?” Marc glared at him. 

“Do you think I’m happier having a partner floundering in last place every race?” He clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified that the words had slipped out. “Jorge, wait, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry, please…” 

“Get out.” The words were so quiet Marc nearly missed them, the anger radiating off Jorge in waves. 

“I didn’t mean it. Don’t…”

“I know you didn’t mean it. That just makes it worse. You just said that to hurt me because I hurt you,” Jorge interrupted again, his volume rising with every word. “Get out!” he roared, roughly pushing Marc towards the door. 

“I can wait however long you need. Just promise you’ll tell me when you’re ready to talk,” Marc begged, trying to hold onto Jorge’s arms. 

“There is no waiting. It’s over,” Jorge growled, extricating himself from Marc’s tight grasp. His heart broke a little more as Marc tried to cling to him. 

“But, I love you.” Jorge hated how hard he was having to fight to stop from letting Marc wrap his arms around his waist. It shouldn’t have to be like this. 

“I left Ducati so I could move to Repsol and we could spend more time together without questions. I sold my apartment in Lugano and moved to a more secluded area so we had less risk of being seen. I smiled and I held you in my arms every night while you bragged about your easy wins or cried about the last lap battles you lost, most of which I was injured during.  _ That _ is love, Marc,” he explained, his sadness overwhelming any lingering anger. 

Marc tried to protest further, his bottom lip wobbling as Jorge finally succeeded in putting him out on the doorstep. The Mallorcan shut the door in his face, a thump coming from inside as Marc imagined Jorge slumping against the door. 

He raised his fist to pound on the door, but he suddenly became aware of all of the people in the paddock. No one was looking at him, but he needed to get out of here before someone noticed the tears on his cheeks as he stood outside of his teammate’s motorhome. 

Marc stared at the door for a few more seconds, willing it to open. After a minute had passed, he swiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoody, finally admitting that Jorge wasn’t going to just accept him back in with open arms. He took a deep breath and forced a smile to his face as he turned and started across the paddock to his own motorhome. 

The door flew open just a few moments too late. Jorge couldn’t take the idea of losing Marc. He caught sight of him walking away and started to follow after him, stopping abruptly when he saw Marc catching up to Alex Rins. Marc burst into laughter at some joke Rins had made. Jorge’s heart sank a little further. 

He shook his head, relieved that Marc hadn’t seen his moment of weakness. Jorge’s gaze dropped to his feet and he retreated back to his motorhome, pushing thoughts of Marc out of his mind. If Marc wasn’t crushed, neither was he. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to write! Thanks for reading!!


End file.
